


The Price of White

by NeonGreenSoul



Category: Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy IV: The After Years
Genre: Eidolons, Forgiveness, Gen, Mount Ordeals, Revenge, Summoning, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonGreenSoul/pseuds/NeonGreenSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rydia never spoke of why she stopped casting white magic. Alone, she climbs Mount Ordeals to reclaim what was lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of White

The great lie told about forgiveness was that it was something she had to do one time. Once she forgave Cecil, that was supposed to be the end of it. But Rydia found forgiveness was a garden, one that required constant upkeep. Every morning since she had returned to his side was another day she had to put her feelings aside and tend that garden.

Resentment was a weed. It grew most swiftly in the worst conditions, in places softer virtues rarely thrived. Like any weed, what was seen was only half of what was there. It could be clipped with kindness, or devotion, or even higher purpose, and Cecil had offered those without limit, but the roots ran deep. Unless they were dug up, it would be back to strangle even the most well-tended forgiveness.

The world had needed her, and so she had answered its call. It was that simple. She put her feelings aside and followed Cecil to the moon and back. But she never told Cecil, nor Edge, not even Rosa the real reason she'd lost the spark for white magic. The reason that now, the greatest gift she could give the world was to choose with care which things to destroy. And all she said was that it was alright, because the world was more important than her.

But in her darker and more honest moments, Rydia would admit to the stars and the night air that she had never truly forgiven Cecil.

"You helped my friend, once."

The Mysidian elder regarded Rydia as prey did a predator. He could feel the power rippling about her as surely as he saw the ripples of her diaphanous, green dress. "The last time someone came here with that look in his eyes, he gained only the power to destroy himself."

"I have all the power I would need if vengeance was my wish."

"But it is."

Rydia departed for the mountain without responding to the elder's claim. The rustling of leaves whispered his words each morning, and the ocean waves shouted them each night. The entire week's trek to Mt. Ordeal was spent devising answers to a question he hadn't asked.

At the base of the mountain, Rydia paused. There was only one answer with any truth to it. She did want revenge. She wanted to destroy everything Cecil cared about. She wanted to reduce him to a mewling child, so desperately powerless that he'd take up his dark sword again to strike her down. She wanted to see his fear when he realized that because of him, this darkness was her home, and it answered her alone. "But I don't want to want that anymore."

Rydia stared down the mountain and the mountain flinched. She had a will forged in the molten depths of the earth and cooled on the dark side of the moon. No mere brisk wind or sharp outcrop could keep her from summiting by noon.

She had heard Cecil's stories, and there was no mistaking that she had found the cave of his rebirth. But he never told her what it looked like. She had expected a dank cave of granite, not a chamber of crystal. Every surface glittered and reflected the jade of her dress.

Lunarians had built this place, surely. If she didn't know better, she would think she were on the moon again. Even after all these years, the twisting tunnels and soaring chambers made of the same gleaming crystal came rushing back to her.

But there was nothing more spectacular to the place than that. She felt no thrum of magic in these polished walls. When she dragged her painted nails across their glassy surface, she just felt the cold, alien crystal. Only silence lived here, not redemption.

Rydia sighed and collapsed against a wall. She laughed, dry and cynical.

"What brought you here?" she asked the air. She meant Cecil, but when she repeated the question, she asked herself, "What brought you here?"

In the dim light, the green eyes of her reflection stared back. She conjured _Fire_ to see them more clearly. When did her eyes start to look so old? She had no one here she needed to impress. No one she needed to reassure that she was better now. When she let her face relax, she just looked so _tired_.

She had tended that garden day after day. She had kept constant vigil over her own roiling emotions. And that constant vigilance had aged her as surely as her time in the Feymarch. She never returned anyone's affection because she knew what would happen if she let her guard down. She never let Edge kiss her, nor Palom braid her hair. She never let Rosa hug her, or Edward sing for her.

Rydia knew what was buried, waiting for her to think she could skip that day's pruning to enjoy the life her efforts had bought.

She smirked at her reflection on the far wall, clutching a flame of her own making. "I learned to make this for you, Cecil." The venom in her voice echoed. "I learned this for _you_!"

Rydia hurled the flame against the mirrored wall. The glow lit her face, and faded until all she could see was her green eyes again.

"Is this what you wanted, Cecil!?"

She threw _Fira_ against her reflection, which her mirror self threw back at her. They collided on the surface of the wall and exploded, the heat kissing her cheeks. Her reflection hung doubled over, drawing roaring breaths. Rydia wasn't even aware she had stood up.

"Is _this_ bravery!?" She spat the words with hateful sarcasm.

A gout of _Firaga_ blasted the wall with such force that it spilled back at her. She let it singe her flesh and scorch her dress. It dried her streaming tears leaving salt and sweat in their place.

"Is it, Cecil? Is it?"

She would destroy this place, this chamber that meant so much to Cecil. The baleful glow of a _Flare_ gathered in the space between her hands. "I did everything you asked!" The _Flare_ swelled. Fury and magic pulsed through her in equal measure, shaking her limbs with every beat of her heart. "You used fire to destroy everything dear to me, but I _mastered_ it. For _you!_ "

She and her reflection unleashed such radiant rage that the sun ought to withdraw in shame. Her dress was incinerated instantly, and her bare flesh crackled and blistered. Hot smoke choked her nose. Much of her hair was burned away, and the last glowing embers showed her that the room escaped unscathed.

Rydia trembled. From pain, exhaustion, self-pity, she didn't care which. She pressed her hand against the reflecting wall, and let her forehead fall against her mirror self.

There was no descending the mountain with these burns. Were she a lesser person, not even bones would have remained, but even her body— _her will_ —had limits. On the edge of death, only one question remained to be asked.

"Why did you let him do this?"

Was she asking her mother why she failed to stop Cecil? Was she asking herself why she let him talk her into casting that first _Fire_ spell on Mount Hobs? Or was she asking Cecil why he let the King of Baron send him on that mission at all?

She was going to die on this mountain, and then the answers wouldn't matter anyway. For once she felt alright with that. She relaxed against her reflection.

A moist, cooling tingle jolted Rydia awake. Rather than relief, the cold mist brought only stinging agony to her blistered skin. Something slithered across her feet. A serpentine form loomed above her, silhouetted against the light from the cave entrance.

Recognizing the Mist Dragon, Rydia wept from shame. "No. Not you. Don't look at me. I don't want you to see me like this." She hid her face from the dragon, but it only hung silently in the fog. She tried to dispel it but was too fatigued. "Leave me be."

When it didn't move, she pushed herself to an upright seated position. "What are you doing here? I didn't summon you."

It stared at her, its whiskers swayed in the gentle breeze.

Rydia sighed. "You were my mother's guardian Eidolon, not mine. I don't know why you'd be here just to watch me die. Why _are_ you here?" The mists drifted across the chamber's entrance, and a shimmering rainbow of lights rippled on every surface.

"I'm sorry," she said. She stood and rested a hand on the Eidolon's snout. She'd never apologized to the Mist Dragon before, but it felt appropriate. "I kept you bonded because you reminded me of her. I thought since you had protected her, it would be like having her protect me still."

Her stomach lurched as she realized just how true her words were. She'd never admitted that before, even to herself.

"Well, you'll be free soon enough." Rydia sat back down.

Still the dragon didn't move.

"I suppose this is the last chance I'll have to say this, so you ought to know that I don't blame you. You didn't fail her, and you didn't fail me. If you'd killed Cecil and Kain, they'd have just sent more soldiers to try again. So I don't want you going back to the Feymarch feeling guilty or anything."

Arms enveloped Rydia from behind, drawing her into a gentle embrace against the reflecting wall. There was no pain in their touch, only love. Someone kissed the top of her head and she closed her eyes.

"I miss you so much," she told her mother, clutching her forearms to her chest.

"I know, dear. But it's time to let us go."

"Take me with you. I'm ready."

"Shh," her mother said, and stroked her hair. "None of that now."

Rydia nodded. She needed to ask one question, but her throat had closed from dry tears. _Would you forgive me if I forgave him?_

"I love you."

"Don't go."

Rydia spun as quickly as her burns would let her and pressed her hands against the reflecting wall. Only her mirror self remained. Behind her, she saw no looming dragon, no iridescent mist. She was alone.

"Would you?" she asked aloud. Only her pitiful, burned reflection gazed back. So she asked her. "Would you?"

The answer didn't come as a word. It came as an rush of unbearable relief. If Rydia herself were killed, she would want only fulfillment and joy for those whose lives she'd touched. She would never wish to be avenged, not at such a cost, no matter how much the person loved her. And nothing in her heart told her that her mother had been any different.

Her mother couldn't have wanted this for Rydia.

She forgave Cecil. She suspected this would be the last time she'd have to.

Rydia the White Mage stumbled, naked and laughing, out the mouth of the cave. Her skin still stung where the burns had been, but the sun felt glorious on her restored flesh.

Tomorrow, she would plant roses.

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing through FF4 today and it struck me that Rydia recovers and forgives Cecil so quickly that she surely had anger she had never truly dealt with. We're supposed to assume that Cecil forgiving himself on Mt. Ordeals is sufficient atonement, but what if Rydia didn't think it was enough? How hard would it be for her to live in a world that regarded him as redeemed despite him barely making amends to her? It can be exhausting to keep insisting that everything is alright when it isn't...


End file.
